


Bullets and Dragon Bones

by Poecilotheria



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (Equivalent to around the 40s), (characters will be added as they appear), (sort of), Canon Divergent, M/M, Modded Skyrim, Modern AU, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Burn, Two Dragonborns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22497400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poecilotheria/pseuds/Poecilotheria
Summary: Solaf True-Shot is your average adventurer, that is to say he's not really average at all.  But he's settled into his life of wandering, and seems destined to remain just another sellsword until he finds a scrawny Imperial outside the smoldering ruins of Helgen.  It's not long until he's swept up into an epic quest to prevent the apocalypse itself, all the while dealing with the bratty little Dragonborn and a persistent feeling that they're more deeply connected than he thought...
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5





	Bullets and Dragon Bones

The sudden jolt and harsh metallic shriek of the train’s brakes jolted Sol out of his reverie, and it took a moment to gain his bearings. The other passengers began murmuring amongst themselves, bracing on the seats and peering out of the windows. A bandit attack, most likely. Sol rested his hand on his pistol and leaned over to the window, ignoring the protests of the man beside him in his urgency. Black smoke was pouring out of the town ahead, spilling over the concrete walls. Sol’s heart sank, and he stood before the train even came to a halt, using the backs of the seats to steady himself as he made his way to the door at the end of the carriage. He pulled the door open and stepped out, feeling the bite of mountain air on what little exposed skin he had. More smoke stained the sky above, and Sol gripped onto a railing so he could lean out and gauge the damage ahead. His eyes widened.

Helgen was destroyed. The tall towers that usually dotted it had largely crumbled and fire blazed in the scattered wooden structures. He saw no signs of life either, and a large part of him wished to hop off the train and run all the way back to Falkreath. The more self-preserving part of him sighed as he decided to do the opposite, waiting for the train to slow further. Sol was always the sort to run headlong into danger, and it had both helped and hindered him in equal measure, though he surmised that it was a fitting trait for a sellsword. Despite this, his heart still hammered in his chest as the train ground to a halt, and he jumped off, stumbling gracelessly in a manner that probably made the other passengers wonder what this plainly inept madman was up to. He recovered quickly and started in a half jog towards Helgen, heading towards the station and following the tracks.

The scent of smoke and fire hung heavy in the air as he approached, and the only sound he could hear was the crunch of gravel beneath his feet. His heart sank as he still failed to find any survivors. If whatever had done this was still around, he was on a suicide mission, but he supposed it would be a fitting end. He drew his pistol and slipped into the town, picking his way along the tracks until he came upon the mercifully undamaged platform. He hauled himself up into the station, and froze as he saw a charred form laying prone nearby. The figure was entirely motionless, and as Sol knelt to investigate them, their charred flesh crumbled at his touch. He wrinkled his nose, and momentarily wondered what it said about his psyche that he was only mildly disturbed by the sight. A quiet shuffling sound made him jump to his feet, and he trained his gun towards where the sound emanated from. 

“Did you escape as well?” a voice said, and Sol lowered the weapon in tandem with the stranger as he recognized the uniform of a station-worker. He shook his head.

“From the train,” he said, keeping his words short and pointing towards the tunnel. His voice had a light Nordic accent. The worker frowned, looking up at him. Sol was huge, and the handle of a battleaxe jutted out over his head from where it was strapped to his back, a faint glow of enchantment dancing on its surface. Only a more dedicated fighter bothered with such weapons.

“I haven’t found anyone else, but I’m not going out there,” he said, fear obvious in his tone. Sol looked towards the door.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” the worker responded, “I was watching the execution, and then the sky changed.”

Sol frowned deeply. “Changed?”

“It looked almost...fiery, and then meteors fell. I barely escaped into the station,” he said. He then began to sweat a little under Sol’s skeptical stare. “I swear I’m telling the truth! I don’t have a reason to lie.”

“I believe you,” Sol said, keeping his other thoughts to himself as he eyed the station’s exit. The worker followed his gaze and paled.

“You can’t go out there,” he pleaded. Sol ignored him and took a few steps towards it, looking at the sunlight falling through the arched opening. He paused.

“Others?” The worker took a moment to process his words.

“A few. Hiding in the office,” he said. Sol nodded, giving him what he hoped was a confident look.

“Keep them safe here,” he said, walking through the exit and back into the harsh sun. His eyes took a few moments to adjust, and when they did he let out a shaky breath. “By the nine…” The area before him was covered in charred corpses and crushed rubble. Fires still raged through anything flammable, and he approached a piece of rock nearby that struck him as odd. He poked it with his boot and found it to be unusually heavy and darkly-colored for brick or concrete. This piqued his interest, and after a cursory look around he crouched and grabbed the rock, feeling the heat it gave off even through his thick gloves. 

“A meteorite,” he mumbled softly. He slipped the stone into his pack as he stood, and he forged onwards, searching for any sign of life. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have killed anyone who’d remained outside, and Sol wasn’t going to risk entering any of the severely damaged buildings he could see. He kept his weapon readied as he continued, feeling a little more hollow with each minute that passed in silence.

Being a hero had always been Sol’s dearest, and perhaps silliest, dream. A true one too, one who was dedicated to defending the innocent and punishing the corrupt. And he’d be lying if he said seeing the destruction from the train hadn’t conjured visions of swooping in and saving the townsfolk. Reality was apparently unmoved by such fantasies, as Sol passed a rust-tinged boulder with a mangled arm sticking out from under it. Idealism really ought to have been beaten out of him long ago, and he often found himself wishing it had. It’d be a lot easier without the cognitive dissonance and general disappointment. His rescue mission had been a resounding failure, and he didn’t want to stick around for any questioning. 

He turned to head back to the station and paused as he saw that one of the large iron gates had been partially crushed open by a fallen tower. Excellent, he wouldn’t have to tell the poor worker that what seemed like every living soul in Helgen had been brutally slaughtered, though perhaps some had escaped through this very gate. He hopped up onto the partially crumbled rock pile and slipped between the tower’s remains and the bent iron. The hard-packed dirt on the other side rattled his knees a little as he underestimated the jump, and he rubbed at them for a second before straightening up. 

He still needed to get to Riften, but he would have to catch the train down in Riverwood, provided that it wasn’t shut down entirely or commandeered by soldiers. The news about Helgen was probably already getting out as well, and Sol wondered about what could have possibly destroyed the place. The only thing he could think of that could cause meteors to fall from the sky like that would be mages, which made Sol scowl. Just great, another reason for people in Skyrim to scorn magic and its users. He was so lost in thought as he began his journey that he almost missed the figure huddled behind a rock near the side of the road. Sol froze.

“Are you alright?” he asked, approaching carefully. The man looked up, his eyes wide and fearful. Some soot was smeared across his cheek, and he had his hands gripped tightly around a rifle. Sol observed him for a long moment. “Helgen?”

“I barely survived,” he replied, his voice smooth and soothing. He looked to be a rather scrawny Imperial, with slicked-back hair and a golden earring dangling from his right ear. A silken blue cloak cascaded over his shoulders, and the mantle of his black hood was draped elegantly over his chest. He was guarding his leg, and Sol could see scorched cloth as he shifted. He crouched in front of the Imperial.

“What happened?” he asked. The man’s already pale skin blanched further.

“A dragon attacked Helgen, just as Ulfric was to be executed,” he said, his voice shaking. Sol’s blood chilled as he looked into the man’s eyes and saw no sign of deceit.

“Ulfric was captured?” he asked. The little Imperial bristled.

“Yes, yes, your precious leader was caught. I’m more worried about the damned dragon that nearly scorched my leg off!” he snarled. Sol scowled, his face darkening.

“I’m no Stormcloak,” he snarled, and the strange man flinched. Sol saw this, and managed to calm himself, reminding himself that the man had just witnessed something shocking. He looked to his leg. “You’re hurt?” 

“...I apologize, that was a poor assumption on my part. Yes. My leg was burned. I didn’t realize it was this bad,” he said, moving his leg with a shuddering breath. His right boot had been removed, and his pant leg was rolled up to expose a nasty-looking burn. It was raw and weeping but didn’t seem to be beyond Sol’s talents.

“Here,” he said, holding a hand over the injury before the Imperial could protest. A bright light flickered from his palm, and shimmering strands of magic coiled around the burn, slowly knitting the skin together and regrowing any that had peeled away. The man’s eyes watched with rapt interest.

“Are you some sort of mage?” he asked. Sol withdrew his hand, having reduced the wound to what looked like a mild sunburn.

“No, I just know this,” he lied. The Imperial squinted at him, but let it go, instead busying himself with sliding his boot back on. Sol gazed into the distance for a moment, long enough to unnerve the other man. “What did it look like?”

“The dragon? Black, and large. I didn’t stop and stare though, obviously,” the Imperial responded, “And as for your earlier question, yes, they were about to execute Ulfric. They no doubt wanted to keep it under wraps in case someone wanted to bust him out. Not that it mattered, since I think he got away in the chaos.” Sol took his words in and mulled over them carefully.

“A dragon. Seems unbelievable.”

The Imperial jabbed a finger at him. “I was burned by that thing! It’s as real as-”

“I believe you. But it is strange,” Sol said, holding up a hand to stop his protests. The Imperial scowled and finished lacing up his boot, settling his pant leg back into place. Judging by his outfit, Sol surmised that he must be rather wealthy.

“Don’t phrase it like that then,” he huffed. Sol stood and looked down the road before looking back down at the other man. The Imperial stood after a moment, testing his leg and sighing with relief. The man wasn’t short, but compared to Sol he was still little. He smoothed out his clothing. “What now?”

“Heading to Riverwood,” Sol replied. The Imperial looked where Sol was staring.

“Well, I am as well I suppose. Ought to warn them while I’m there,” he said, hooking the rifle over his shoulder. It clacked against an intricate black bow that shimmered with a reddish enchantment. Perhaps this little Imperial was tougher than he looked, or perhaps he just carried the weapon for show. Sol nodded, admiring the weapon’s craftsmanship for a moment.

“Stick together?” Sol asked, making the other man wonder if he was always so abrupt in his speech. He shrugged.

“Sure. Might as well,” he said, “Though if that dragon comes back we’re doomed anyway.” 

“Not dying alone,” Sol offered, shrugging. The Imperial made a face, thumbing at the strap of the rifle.

“Fantastic, they’ll find two charred corpses,” he groused, following as Sol suddenly set off. The man towered over him, and he struggled to keep an easy pace as he strode ahead. They walked in silence for a few minutes, the noise of the forest mingling with their footsteps. It was a soothing bit of normalcy, and the Imperial seemed to space out as he walked. Sol’s voice made him jump.

“I’m Sol,” he said simply. The Imperial considered whether or not he was going to reciprocate.

“Memphi,” he replied. 

**Author's Note:**

> Been playing Skyrim a lot, and I wanted to try my hand at writing some of my OCs in this universe. Also, made it a semi-modern AU since I love ones where magic and whatnot is kept intact, so there will be some fairly notable changes in that regard. Other OCs appear later as well, and the slow burn is at a glacial pace so don't expect anything anytime soon.  
> I'm also still shaky on the lore, so forgive me for any mistakes! Also, carrying a bow even with guns around will be explained later since I know it seems silly.
> 
> Also can someone explain why I can't seem to indent anymore? It looks awful to me like this.


End file.
